


Equal Footing

by Syntaxeme



Series: Equal Footing AU [1]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series), Helluva Boss (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor Being a Jerk (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor is in Hell for a Reason (Hazbin Hotel), Blood and Gore, Bottom Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Canon-Typical Violence, Dark, Desperation, Enemies to Lovers, Intense, Internal Conflict, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Overlord Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Pimp Angel Dust, Possessive Behavior, Rough Sex, Sex Worker Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Tough Angel Dust, Trans Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:54:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26658511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syntaxeme/pseuds/Syntaxeme
Summary: [Overlord!Angel in (more or less) Valentino's canon position]Angel Dust is an Overlord and a successful pimp who prioritizes his employees' safety above all else. So when one of them is murdered, he's intent on making sure the killer suffers for it. When the perpetrator turns out to be an even more dangerous Overlord--the Radio Demon--Angel is forced to be strategic about getting his revenge. But their confrontations have a certain confusing chemistry to them, one they both find themselves gravitating toward despite all the reasons they shouldn't. Like Angel's boyfriend, for example.
Relationships: Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust/Vox (Hazbin Hotel)
Series: Equal Footing AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1939675
Comments: 22
Kudos: 148





	1. A Kink in the Works

**Author's Note:**

> I got an inkling of this idea listening to "Dark Horse" by Katy Perry and mixing it with some old Overlord!Angel ideas I had.  
> You can find [Overlord!Angel's design on my Twitter](https://twitter.com/Syntaxeme/status/1309734013066784768?s=20) if you'd like to see what he looks like in this story. You'll also get all the earliest updates on my work there! Enjoy!

Angel Dust grinned as yet another girl lined up to pay her dues. This one, Lacey, was new, a thin little slip of a thing with thick bangs that covered her eyes, and the fellas went nuts over her shy attitude—as evidenced by the fat stack of bills she handed over to Angel.

“Good girl,” he purred as he started to count the money. “You headin’ home for the night?”

“Yes, sir.” Her soft voice was barely audible over the pounding bass in the club. If he hadn’t already seen the way she performed, he would’ve thought she’d wandered in by accident.

“Baby, I toldja, you can call me Angel,” he reminded her with a comforting smile. “Hang on a minute. You ain’t walkin’ home, are ya? By yaself?”

“Oh, it’s not that far. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“Fuck that.” Snapping his fingers, he glanced back over his shoulder at one of his own bodyguards. “Zia, make sure she gets home safe.”

“Of course,” said the broad-shouldered demoness he’d addressed, stepping forward with a nod.

“I-I don’t want to be a bother,” Lacey mumbled.

“You’re not. I’d be a pretty shitty boss if I sent my gals out on the street without any kinda protection.” He made a mental note that she was one of the ones who still needed self-defense training. It had been a minute since he’d done a class, so it was about time he double-checked that all his babes could look out for themselves. Of course, most demons knew better than to fuck with his people in the first place, but it never hurt to be prepared.

Once Lacey was gone and he was sure she was in good hands, he went back to counting up his money. It had been a pretty damn good week for the clubs, and the stroll was busy as ever too, which had him in a pretty good mood.

When he heard some kind of argument going on across the room and saw one of his bouncers headed that way, his smile disappeared. Here things had been going so well lately and now some drunk fuckhead had to ruin it. Well, it wasn’t like he was busy. He got up and made his way across the crowded floor to a small stage where one of his girls (an imp named Catalina, affectionately dubbed ‘Pussycat’) was clinging to her pole, half-naked, glaring down at the patron who was yelling at her.

“—think you can treat me however the fuck you want just ‘cause you’re an _expensive_ hooker?” he snarled. He was bleeding from a wound on his temple, being held back by two of his pals while the bouncer stood by ready to step in if he had to. “Somebody oughta put you in your fuckin’ place!”

“Problem over here, fellas?” Angel asked, leaning forward to rest his hands on the back of the couch where they’d been sitting.

“Fuckin’ bitch kicked me with those goddamn hooves.” Although his anger didn’t seem to be fading, the guy obviously knew enough not to get in Angel’s face.

“What was ya face doin’ that close to the pole anyway?” the spider asked, raising his eyebrows.

“I was tryin’ to tip her—”

“Bullshit!” Cat snapped. “He kept touchin’ me, Daddy, even though I _told him_ it’s ‘look, don’t touch.’ He tried to grab me and I panicked. I didn’t mean to…” Past her anger, she looked scared, either scared of this dickhead trying to put his grubby paws on her or scared that Angel would punish her for hurting a patron. Well those were both out of the question.

“Look, boys, we’re all here to have a good time,” he told the group, keeping his eyes fixed on the offender. “Y’ve had a couple drinks, ya got a little carried away, I get it. But I can’t have you in here makin’ my dancers nervous. Now, you tell me you’re gonna keep ya hands to yourself the rest a’ the night, and I bet Pussycat’ll be happy to keep dancin’ for ya. Sound good?” All the others nodded and mumbled their agreement, not willing to argue with him on their friend’s behalf. He was still scowling, still looking like he might start a fight. With narrowed eyes, Angel insisted, “How ‘bout it, chief?”

“Fine, whatever,” the guy muttered eventually, throwing his hands up and dropping back to his seat on the couch like a kid throwing a tantrum. Angel kept an eye on him for a second, but it seemed like the matter was settled. Then, as he turned to leave, the guy muttered under his breath, “Tired old skank.”

A sharp, vicious grin split across Angel’s face. Any time was a good time to remind idiots like this one that he wasn’t someone to be fucked with. Slipping two hands under his jacket, he found the holsters at his sides and pulled out a couple of his trusty ACPs, then used one of his free hands to grab the guy’s collar and drag him over the back of the couch. He landed hard on the floor, and Angel promptly planted one foot on his throat. The club’s music never stopped, but plenty of the patrons and dancers in the area looked to see what the commotion was about. Maybe it wasn’t the show they’d come for, but they could consider it a bonus.

“Listen, buddy,” Angel said, bending forward at the waist and keeping both his guns trained on the guy’s head, “I coulda kicked you out a minute ago, but I was willin’ to letcha try again. If you woulda just been a good sport, that woulda been the end of it. But you had to keep runnin’ ya mouth, ya pissed me off, and look where that got ya. Ya happy now? This where you were hopin’ your night would go?” He didn’t lift his foot, didn’t give the guy space to breathe, much less speak. “Now I ain’t usually the kinda guy to give a third chance to someone that doesn’t deserve it, but I don’t feel like moppin’ your sorry ass off my floors. So how ‘bout you get the fuck outta my club and don’t show your ugly mug at any a’ my establishments in the future, and we’ll call it even?”

The asshole’s face was beet red, either from embarrassment or anger or Angel cutting off his bloodflow. Regardless, when the spider took a step back, watching him closely to see whether he’d force the issue, he shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to stalk off without any further argument. _Good riddance._

“Sorry for the ruckus, folks,” Angel said, twirling his pistols and holstering them again. “Next round a’ drinks is on the house.” He nodded at the bartenders to be sure they got the message, then went back to Catalina’s table. “Anybody else wanna test me over here?” He swept his gaze around all the patrons, who were avoiding his eyes, then looked to Cat for her input.

“I think the rest of ‘em are okay,” she said with a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

“Any time, baby.” Maybe his reaction was a little excessive, but he’d worked hard to build his reputation, and he wasn’t about to hurt it by letting some nobody insult him in his own house. And maybe ‘skank’ especially rubbed him the wrong way. _No one_ got away with talking to him like that anymore.

When he returned to his couch at the back of the room, Vox was there waiting for him. “Has anyone ever told you how sexy you are when you’re armed and dangerous?” he asked as Angel sat down, scooting closer to slip one arm around his waist and planting a kiss on his cheek.

“I think I’ve heard it a time or two.” Angel was sure to keep his tone even and not sound any friendlier than necessary. Sure, Vox might technically be his boyfriend, but the way things had been going lately, he was seeing another ‘break’ in their near future. “How was the shoot?”

“Well, I was the one directing, so think of the best version you can and then add an extra fifteen percent or so.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, the spider continued, “How about Val? He give ya any trouble?”

“He was about as prissy as you’d expect. Nothing I couldn’t handle. He asked about you, as usual.”

Which was exactly the reason he never went to Val’s shoots anymore. He knew better than to sleep with his employees, but Val was always pushing for it anyway, always trying to get him to change his mind. Angel didn’t trust that moth as far as he could fucking throw him, so he’d decided to limit their time together as much as possible.

“You know what this weekend is?” Vox’s hand slid down the side of his waist toward his hip, but he pretended not to notice.

“Not a clue.”

“Don’t be like that, luv.” Without warning, he dragged Angel into his lap, and the spider shivered a little. _Now if only he’d get forceful like that more often!_ “You know it’s not a party unless you’re there. I’ll buy you something nice to wear. Just say you’ll go.”

That offer was almost insulting. As if _Angel Dust_ , of all people, needed someone else to buy him anything. It had been over fifty years since he’d had to ask for help, and he liked it that way. The prospect of a new dress wasn’t about to make up his mind one way or the other. Still, he was planning to go to Vox’s big boring ‘gala’ anyway. He had one this time every year, and every Overlord who mattered at all attended, purely because they all liked to show off their status to each other. As much as he disliked the ceremony that came with it, Angel had never been one to resist an opportunity to show himself off. Even if it meant being on Vox’s arm a little longer.

“I’ll be there,” he conceded, turning to face Vox properly, straddling his legs and pushing him back against the couch. Enjoying looking down on him, he went on, “And don’t worry about dressin’ me up, cucciolo. I’ll take care a’ that myself.”

“Whatever you say,” Vox agreed predictably, hands sliding down his thighs. Since he’d become an Overlord—and since Lust was practically his middle name—he’d gotten good at reading other people’s desires, and Vox’s were always the same: _you, you, you_. His puppy love shtick had been cute for a while; it was the reason they’d gotten together in the first place, the reason he always took Angel back no matter how many times they broke up, but these days? It had just gotten so damn boring.

— — —

The day of Vox’s party, Angel got a nasty surprise (and not the good kind). While he was at the studio, wrapping up business for the day, he got a call from one of his long-time girls, Torvi. Her voice shook, but she managed to speak clearly. “Angel. We have a problem. I need backup at the casino on South Side.”

“Uh, okay? Does it hafta come from me? I kinda have places to be tonight.”

“I know, and I would try to handle it myself if I could, but… Trust me, you’ll want to see this for yourself.” That didn’t sound promising.

“Yeah, okay. Gimme fifteen and I’ll meetcha there,” he said, grabbing his suit jacket and shrugging it on as he headed for the elevator. Great. Just what he needed: a kink in the works to deal with before he could have his night off.

When he got down to the car, he settled into the back and gave his driver directions, looking over his schedule to see which workers he’d had stationed at his brother’s casino the night before. It was a pretty simple partnership they had set up: Arackniss owned and operated the casino (which doubled as a hotel), Angel supplied some of his higher-end babes to encourage big spending, and in addition to a portion of their income, he got a cut of Niss’s profits too. Only it sounded like there had been a hiccup this time, and if it was something Torvi couldn’t handle on her own, it had to be something big.

It was around 7 o’clock when he got to the casino, meaning the doors were just opening and there weren’t many people around yet. Torvi supplied a room number via text, and when he got up to it, he found her pacing around outside, wringing her hands. She was a dirty blonde (in every sense) with elaborate braids and dark-lined eyes, loud and boisterous and able to drink anyone she met under the table—but today, she was pale and somber, visibly shaken. She breathed a sigh of relief as Angel approached her.

“So what’s goin’ on?” he asked.

“It’s one of the girls. Divine, I think? I didn’t get a good look. I couldn’t. I…” She bit her lip hard, digging her fingernails into her arm until she bled. _Shit._ Angel had never seen her this fucked up before.

“Hey, c’mere, baby,” he said gently, pulling her into his arms to let her rest her head against his chest. She didn’t cry but still grasped tightly at his jacket, trembling in his arms. “Whatever’s goin’ on, Daddy’s gonna take care of it. Now what happened with Divine?”

Torvi shook her head slowly. “You’ll have to see. I can’t—I’m sorry—”

“It’s no big deal. That’s why ya called me over in the first place, right?” He pulled away from her and chucked her chin lightly. “I’ll check it out, and then we can talk.” She nodded, so he walked past her to the room she’d mentioned. When he opened the door and swung it open, the smell of blood hit him all at once, and he nearly stumbled back from the sight. “Cristo santo…”

The place was a fucking slaughterhouse. There was blood on the carpet, on the curtains, on the wall right next to him. On the far wall, the king-size bed was practically drenched in it, and so was the woman’s corpse lying sprawled across the sheets. As Angel carefully picked his way across the room, he realized that Torvi was right; the girl on the bed was a brunette named Divine—though she was barely recognizable. Whoever had done this was obviously some kind of sicko. Not only had they cut her open from her chest to her hips, but they’d cut either side of her mouth wide open too, forcing her face into some kind of grotesque smile.

“What the fuck…” His pale eyes wandered around the scene, noting bloody handprints smeared across the sheets like she’d tried to crawl away and gotten dragged back. Angel was no stranger to bloodshed, but this? This was on a whole other level. This was some psychopath Jack the Ripper shit, some freak who got off on hurting people. Well, that motherfucker was going to regret targeting one of _his_ girls.

Clinging to anger to fend off horror and guilt, he left the room and pulled the door shut behind him. Torvi was leaning against the wall outside, staring down at nothing, still looking haunted. No wonder this had messed her up so much; tough as she was, blood and guts never failed to freak her out anyway. “Let’s get outta here,” he told her quietly, and she didn’t seem eager to argue. “She had a john last night?”

“Yeah, but…”

“What?”

“I never got his name,” Torvi admitted without looking at him.

“You didn’t ask?” he asked sharply.

“Of course I did, but she never answered me,” she snapped. “Now I can probably guess why!” Angel’s eyes narrowed, and Torvi quickly lost her nerve, looking down at the ground again as they waited on the elevator. He didn’t normally take that kind of lip, but he knew she was only mouthing off because she was still in fight-or-flight mode.

“We’re gonna hafta ask around with whoever else was here last night,” he concluded, brushing off her attitude and taking out his phone to recheck the roster.

“Right. I’ll call—”

“Uh-uh.” Angel shook his head as the elevator arrived and they stepped inside. “When I said ‘we,’ I meant ‘me and Niss.’ _You_ are gonna take your ass home and get some R&R while _I_ figure out who the fuck I need to kill. I’ll let Romeo know he needs to step in for you tonight—no buts, I’m already textin’ him. The whole operation ain’t gonna come apart if you take a night off.”

Once he’d shooed Torvi off to her car, he got back into his own, took a deep breath, and let it out as a furious, throat-shredding scream. “God _fucking_ damn it!” How could he have let this happen? No one had hurt any of his babes in years, because he always made examples of the ones who tried. But it seemed like he’d been taking that for granted. He’d gotten complacent. And now one of his girls was dead, dead and fucking torn apart because some lowlife sonofabitch thought his entertainment was worth more than her life.

Whenever Angel brought on a new worker, he made it clear that his employment came with protection. He’d met and worked for too damn many pimps in life who didn’t give two shits whether their bitches were safe, so long as they were making money. He’d gotten back from the stroll beaten and bleeding and hardly able to walk, just to have his daddy demand that he pay up before trying to take care of himself. When he’d made the decision to move from the talent sector to the administrative area of Hell’s sex work industry, he’d sworn to himself that he would never be that kind of man. Making sure his employees were protected and respected was always priority number one for him, and he hated, fucking _hated_ himself for failing to do that with Divine.

He only allowed himself a few seconds of self-pity before raking his dark hair back out of his eyes and snapping at his driver to take him back to the studio. On the way, he called his brother.

“Whaddaya need, Tony? Figured you’d be at ya li’l boyfriend’s party already.”

Ugh, there was still that to deal with too. _One thing at a time._ “Shut up, I got somethin’ more important goin’ on. Y’know one a’ my girls called Divine?”

Arackniss let out a devious chuckle. “I know her, all right. What about her?”

“She’s dead, you fuckin’ bag a’ dicks.”

“Ah, shit. Way to make me feel like a jackass. That ain’t why ya called, is it?”

“Sorta.” Angel explained the situation, about how she had a john at the casino but didn’t report his name like she was supposed to. “You got security cameras you can check or somethin’? I need to figure out who she was with so I know who to blame for this shit.”

“Sure, I can check it out. I’ll letcha know when I got somethin’.”

“Thanks. I owe ya one.”

“Nah, not really. I don’t like knowin’ this shit went down under my roof,” Arackniss pointed out. “Just tell me you’ll make the fucker suffer for it and we’re square.”

“Deal.”


	2. Dancing Around the Issue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I recently hit 100 followers on Twitter, so um, here's a long-ass chapter, and [here's an illustration for it](https://twitter.com/Syntaxeme/status/1311734222542041089?s=20)! Enjoy!

Back at the studio, Angel went up to his penthouse and tried to figure out what to do about Vox’s party. He’d almost been looking forward to it, but now he was sure he wouldn’t be able to focus on the enjoyable parts at all. Maybe it would be easier to just not go. It was a sure thing he’d be missed, but what the fuck did he owe any of those stuck-up, power-hungry pricks anyway? Nothing.

When he got to the top floor, though, he found Vox waiting for him, even more dressed up than usual. His screen flashed a heart for a second, then he replaced it with his usual face and a frown. “Hey, where’ve you been? You’re not even dressed,” he pointed out, like Angel didn’t know it.

“Change of plans,” he answered with a shrug. “I got some business shit to deal with. Sorry.”

“Wait, so you’re not coming?” Vox asked, frowning harder. “For fuck’s sake, Angel, I’ve had this shit planned all year!”

“Look, I’m sorry one a’ my girls got fucking murdered, but I dunno what ya want me to do about it; she didn’t exactly write it into the schedule!” His tone was a lot harsher than necessary, considering that his boyfriend had no idea what had happened, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He had too much negativity swirling around in his head to bother tiptoeing around Vox’s feelings.

“Whoa, I didn’t know about any of that,” the TV demon said, raising his hands in surrender. “What happened?”

Despite not wanting to get into it again, Angel suffered himself to explain the whole mess again, including why he was thinking about skipping the party. To his surprise, Vox brought up a valid point. “Well, if someone’s disrespecting you and your people,” he reasoned, “isn’t locking yourself up in your penthouse the _wrong_ response? You make it seem like you’re scared of showing your face. Like you think whoever did this is a threat to you. That’s the last message you want to send.”

Even though he hadn’t been especially active in his family’s business in life, Angel had picked up enough to know that hiding from your enemies was never a good idea. It showed weakness.

_Fuck that._

“Come on, babe—”

“Don’t fuckin’ call me that,” he growled, shooting Vox a venomous glare so he yanked his hand away from where it rested on the spider’s back.

“Sorry.” He avoided Angel’s eyes. “Just take a step back from it for tonight. Come to the gala with me and remind everyone who you are. Maybe being in a room full of people admiring you will help you relax a little.”

That point struck a nerve, and Angel’s anger quickly faded into something a lot less sharp, a lot less rigid. Vox wasn’t the reason he was so stressed out. Taking it out on him wasn’t doing anyone any good. He let the tension melt out of his shoulders and leaned down for a brief kiss. “Gimme a minute to change and we can go.”

— — —

An hour later, they arrived at Vox’s studio, which had fewer floors but was a lot more spacious than Angel’s. Tonight, it was functioning as a convention hall, complete with fancy ballroom and tons of gussied-up guests. As their ride pulled up to the red carpet and Angel saw all the barely-restrained paparazzi on either side, he couldn’t help but grin.

“Now that’s what I like to see,” Vox said with a smirk of his own. “You know they’ve been waiting for you all night.”

“Guess we should give ‘em what they came for, then.”

Vox got out of the limo first and offered his hand, but Angel took his sweet time about stepping out himself. First, he tossed aside the excess length of his skirt, showing a slit that went up dangerously high and the spiderweb stockings that hugged every inch of his long legs. As he placed one foot on the carpet, a hundred camera flashes caught on his crystal-studded heels, and he took Vox’s hand to rise smoothly to his feet.

All at once, about fifty different voices were calling for his attention, the crowd of photographers and reporters blended into nothing but a sea of flashing lights and eager admirers. “Don’t look now, folks,” he vaguely heard one of the live reporters saying, “but I think Vox and Angel Dust have just arrived! Fashionably late, of course—you have to wonder just what was going on in that limo.”

“Angel, could we have a word?”

“Come on, Angie, give us a smile!”

“Show us those legs again, sweetheart.”

“Calm down, fellas; there’s enough a’ me to go around,” Angel chuckled as he and Vox made their way up the velvet rope-lined carpet. The silvery material of his halter gown shifted and glittered with every step, its plunging back displaying inch after inch of flawless black skin and the bright red hourglass shape on his back.

“Feeling any better?” Vox asked, glancing up at him.

“Yeah, a little.” That was an understatement, but no need to let Vox get a big head over being right. After he’d had his fun posing and blowing kisses for the photographers—what could he say? the camera still loved him—Angel eventually made his way into the studio with his partner. The atmosphere inside was a lot quieter, a lot calmer, a lot less fun. More of an ‘Overlords drinking wine’ vibe.

The place was packed with every demon in Hell who had the right to claim any kind of status or title (plus a few that Angel felt didn’t deserve it); people came from all over for this thing, not just Pentagram City, so there had to be hundreds of them milling around in their best duds, having ‘polite conversation,’ exchanging gossip, waltzing on the dancefloor like they were some kind of royalty and not the literal scum of the Earth. _Fucking pretentious assholes._ He recognized a couple of friendly faces at a glance, though, including—

“Stolas!” Without a second’s hesitation, Angel released Vox’s arm and strode over to one of the free-standing tables where the owl prince was standing by, looking bored, as his wife chatted with a friend. When he saw Angel, however, his face lit up with a smile.

“My dear, what a delight to see you among all this rabble.” He gestured dismissively at the rest of the room, and the two of them exchanged cheek kisses. Drawing away, Stolas gave Angel a twirl to inspect his outfit. “And you’re looking utterly divine, as always.”

Suppressing a cringe at that word, the spider answered, “Ya say that like you ain’t the hottest thing on two legs in the whole building. This a new suit you got on?”

“It is, and thank you for noticing.” His friend fluffed up the feathers that formed his collar, preening and pleased. “You know how dangerous it is to show these people anything less than your very best.”

 _Ain’t that the truth._ “Then it’s a good thing we’re always givin’ ours,” Angel said with a grin. Lowering his voice a little, he asked, “So with the missus here, I guess your usual plus-one got left out?”

Stolas nodded sadly. “Yes, but I doubt he would have come even if I’d asked. He doesn’t care for these sorts of…functions. Speaking of which, where is _your_ tag-along? He’s typically so reluctant to let you out of his sight.”

After giving a cursory glance over his shoulder and failing to locate Vox within a few seconds, Angel shrugged. “He’s around. Minglin’ with all his honored guests, makin’ connections, yada yada yada.”

“Darling.” Stolas’s wife rested a hand on his arm. “Octavia has a friend she’d like us to meet. Shall we?”

“Of course, my love,” he answered with a smile. As they left, he added to Angel, “I’ll see you again before the night’s over!”

“Sure thing.” Angel watched them leave and tried to fight back the green-eyed monster grumbling away in his head. Stolas might have a couple side pieces now and again, but he and his wife were happy together and had been for decades, centuries even. _Must be nice._ Angel was only in his current relationship because it was so much easier than trying to make a new one work. All these years and he still had no idea what it was like to really _want_ to be with someone instead of just going along with what was asked of him.

_Fuck, that got dark quick._

Brushing those thoughts out of his head, he spent the next hour or so seeking out the few others in attendance that he actually liked, dodging the ones he didn’t, and generally trying to fend off boredom until Vox finally found him again. “There you are. Are you avoiding me or something?”

“Course not, cucciolo. It’s just you’re easy to lose in this crowd,” Angel teased, lowering one hand to Vox’s head to illustrate the difference in their heights. His screen flickered slightly in irritation.

“Cute. Well, since I’m so shrimpy, I guess you don’t even _want_ to dance with me?”

“Aw, don’t pout.” Draping his arms over the TV demon’s shoulders, Angel drew him in close so his face pressed into the exposed fluff of the spider’s chest. “I’ll dance with ya if ya promise to get me another drink afterwards.”

“Cross my heart, darling,” Vox answered, a handful of little hearts drifting across his screen. Okay, maybe the puppy love thing was still kind of cute now and then.

Vox had actually taught him all this ballroom shit years ago for exactly this purpose. Angel had never done that sort of thing in life, and it wasn’t his favorite kind of dancing to do, but he had to admit some parts of it were fun. Maybe he wasn’t much for putting on airs in a big group like this, but there was something to be appreciated about feeling elegant (for once).

Somewhere in the middle of their second dance, Angel’s phone rang, and he retrieved it from his chest fluff with one of his free hands, forcing a little distance between him and his dance partner. “Come on, Angel,” Vox sighed.

“It’s Niss.”

“Call him back later.”

“It might be about Divine,” Angel insisted, his enjoyment of the party quickly fading as he remembered everything that had happened earlier in the evening. His conscience wouldn’t let him ignore the call if it meant learning something about her death. “I’m sorry. I gotta take it.”

“…yeah.” Vox led him to the edge of the floor and took a step back to shove his hands in his pockets. “Go ahead. I promised you a drink anyway.”

Feeling only slightly guilty for the interruption, Angel walked away from the crowd and answered his phone: “Pronto.”

“Hey,” Arackniss answered, his voice tense already. “I got a lead on ya girl from last night, but you’re not gonna like it.”

 _Yeah, no kidding._ “I wasn’t expectin’ to, but I need to know it anyway. What’d ya find?”

“First off, my security footage from last night’s all fucked up. Just weird, distorted, patchy, and I think your man’s the reason for it; it starts on the ground floor, then goes up to the room you told me about.” Yeah, that seemed like pretty clear evidence that whoever had killed Divine knew better than to let himself get caught on film. “Summa my cameras are showin’ Divine like normal early on, but there’s a point around ten p.m. where my recordings of her get all fuzzy and staticky. Don’t take this the wrong way, but ain’t that somethin’ ya li’l boyfriend could cause?”

“Will you stop fuckin’ callin’ him that?” Angel grumbled before realizing what his brother was implying. “I mean, you’re not wrong, but he ain’t a suspect. He wouldn’t screw me or my business over like this.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figure too. It’s just the other possibility’s even worse. You know anything about the Radio Demon?”

Pacing slowly along the outer perimeter of the dance floor, Angel frowned harder. Niss was right; he did not like where this was going. “Not a lot. I know he has some kinda weird rivalry goin’ on with Vox.”

“Y’think he’d fuck with you to get at Vox? I heard from a couple a’ my guys who were workin’ last night that he was there, around the same time I lost Divine on my cameras. I dunno, Tony, it ain’t lookin’ good. If he’s the one you’re after, this just got a helluva lot more complicated.”

That was an understatement. The Radio Demon—Alastor—was a different sort of Overlord than the ones at this party. He wasn’t the kind that played the social standing game or tried to build an empire. He wasn’t the kind that could be reasoned with. He was just a sadist who wanted to make sure everyone knew how powerful he was. And he _was_ powerful. There were plenty of stories about older, higher-up demons who’d tried to put him in his place early on and how he’d slaughtered every single one of them (stylishly, in fact). Angel had been making all these plans to string up the bastard who killed his girl and make it clear that kind of shit wouldn’t be tolerated…but how in the fuck was he supposed to do that to an Overlord that no one could seem to control?

“Tony? You listenin’?” His brother’s voice over the phone brought him back to the moment, and he tried to focus on their conversation.

“Yeah. I mean, kinda. What were you sayin’?”

“I was sayin’ if it _is_ him, ya might be better off just droppin’ it.”

“No way,” Angel snarled. He might now know exactly how he was going to do it, but he was still planning to make Alastor pay for what he’d done. Like Hell was he gonna get off that easy. “Look, I appreciate you checkin’ into it for me. I _am_ gonna settle this score, whatever I hafta do to make it happen.”

Arackniss let out a resigned sigh, well aware that his hotheaded little brother saw these things as a matter of pride, sometimes at the expense of practicality. “Just try not to get yourself killed. If ya end up needin’ more help from the family, you know where to find me.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Angel ended the call and held his phone so tight it was in danger of cracking. If there was one thing he hated above all else, it was feeling powerless—and he hadn’t felt this way for a long time. So why should the goddamn Radio Demon get the satisfaction of taking away his teeth? No, he wasn’t about to back down from this offense, no matter how stupid it was to fight someone like Alastor. He wasn’t about to let some other Overlord walk all over him like he was nothing.

“Quite a turnout tonight! Vox must be very pleased with himself.”

Angel had only heard that voice a time or two during the occasional broadcast, but the overlay of old-timey radio static made it pretty clear who was speaking. Sure enough, when he snapped his head to the side, he found the Radio Demon standing just a few inches away, hands folded behind his back as he looked out onto the dancefloor. He must have known about Vox’s dress code, as he was dressed in a deep red tailcoat, his hair pulled back into a low ponytail.

Angel’s hands clenched into fists, silk gloves squeezing tighter around his knuckles. His immediate instinct was to go on the offensive right away, to demand answers and pick a fight so they could settle this. But he took a deep breath and managed to calm himself down into quiet fury instead. That wasn’t how ‘proper’ demons did things. God, he was tired of walking on eggshells for these people.

“Alastor.”

“Angel Dust.” Even if they’d never spoken before, they knew each other by reputation. But that didn’t explain why Alastor had attacked Divine. How could he have developed some kind of grudge before they ever even met?

“What are you doing here?” Angel asked, unable to keep the venom out of his voice. Alastor glanced up at him, smiling like this was a totally casual conversation, and raised an eyebrow.

“Is there a reason I shouldn’t be? Vox invites me every year, but this is my first time attending. It’s a bit dull so far, if I’m honest.” How was he going to stand there and act like there was no tension, like he wasn’t aware that Angel wanted to tear his head off? _Does he think I don’t know what he did? Or is he just here to taunt me about it?_

“Give it some time; they open up the poker tables around midnight.”

“Oh, I’m not much of a gambler,” Alastor said with a shrug.

“Oh yeah? That’s funny. Coulda sworn I heard you were at one a’ the Ragnis’ casinos last night.” Maybe he had to go about this carefully, but that didn’t mean he had to ignore it.

“Was I? Hard to say; it’s all a little fuzzy in my mind,” the redhead answered, gesturing airily. “I _can_ tell you that whatever I was doing last night, it wasn’t gambling.” He shot Angel a devilish grin and a wink that made his blood boil. What the fuck did he think this was, some kind of game? Did he think he was cute for playing dumb? “You seem tense, Angel. Why not join me on the dancefloor? I’m sure I can help you loosen up.”

“First off, don’t talk to me like you fuckin’ know me,” Angel hissed, unable to stop himself. “And second: no! I wouldn’t dance with you if you were the last fuckin’—”

“Everything all right, luv?” Vox had reappeared at his other side with a drink in each hand: a glass of champagne for himself and a whiskey sour for Angel. After handing off the cocktail, he wrapped his now-free arm around Angel’s waist. “Nice of you to show up, Al. It’s been a while. You know, ‘fashionably late’ usually means twenty or thirty minutes, not two hours.”

“Then I guess that makes me extremely fashionable. Besides, I figured it was about time I see what it is you’re always bragging about. I’ll admit you’re doing well for yourself.” Was it Angel’s imagination, or did that comment come with a sly glance in his direction, like he could be counted as part of Vox’s success? How was it everything this guy did and said managed to piss him off more? And now that Vox was there, he couldn’t even confront Alastor about what he’d done; he was _not_ about to be the damsel looking for help from his hellborn boyfriend—especially if that was what Alastor wanted in the first place.

“Y’know what?” After tossing back his drink and handing off the empty glass to Vox, he fixed Alastor with a steady glare. “I think I will take you up on that dance.”

“Dance?” Vox repeated.

“Wonderful! After you.” Alastor took a step back and waved Angel toward the dancefloor, so he strode past without a single look back. Part of him felt bad for keeping Vox in the dark, but he didn’t need to be a part of this anyway. It was between the two of them, and once he found out what Alastor’s game was, he would put a stop to it _quick_.

Once they got to the dancefloor, rather than waiting for Angel to step into his arms the way Vox did, Alastor grabbed his right hand and pulled him in close, then wrapped his other arm around Angel’s back to keep him there. Despite himself, despite being irritated by the Radio Demon’s pushiness, Angel still had to suppress a shiver.

It was worth mentioning that he hadn’t been this close to anyone but Vox in years. As an Overlord, it wasn’t like he could just go letting any old demon fuck him; that was no way to get respect. Sure, he’d been groped a time or two over the years, and every time, the offender was swiftly punished. This felt…different. For one, he’d explicitly agreed to it. For another, Vox never held him this close, this tight; it wasn’t ‘proper form’ for a waltz. But as Alastor grinned up at him, it was clear he had no intention of loosening his grip. Add to that all the anger and resentment that had already been building up in Angel’s mind, and being in this position felt…different than he expected.

“Ahem.” Alastor raised his eyebrows expectantly. “You do know how to do this, don’t you?”

Taking that as the challenge it obviously was, Angel snapped out of his internal conflict and made sure his frown was firmly back in place as he rested his left hand on Alastor’s shoulder. “Just as well as you do,” he answered defiantly.

“We’ll see.” Now that they were in the right position, Alastor led him easily into the crowd of other couples gliding around the floor, confident and unfaltering like if Angel fell behind, he might just go on without him.

Angel was actually grateful to Vox for giving him some practice earlier; muscle memory was kicking in well enough that he could dance and talk at the same time. “What the fuck are you tryin’ to do here?”

“I think it’s a Viennese, based on the tempo,” his partner answered without missing a beat. “Or were you talking about something else?”

“Quit playin’ stupid! You were with one a’ my girls last night.”

“Maybe I was. Is that a crime?” Alastor tilted his head, screwing up his face like he was trying hard to focus. “What was her name? Heavenly? Something like that.”

“It was Divine,” Angel ground out, following his lead into a whisk, then another turn, then another. Lowering his voice a little, he finally said it plainly: “And you fucking killed her.”

“Hmm, I’m not sure about that. I kill a lot of people, you see, so it’s hard to remember the names and circumstances of each one,” Alastor explained, nonchalant, like this was normal party conversation. Meeting Angel’s eyes, seeing the icy glint in them, he smiled wider. “But suppose I did. What would that mean for us?”

_‘Us’? There’s no such thing as ‘us’!_

“What d’you think it means?” He paused as Alastor spun him, then immediately continued, “It means you gotta pay for fuckin’ with my people.”

“That is typically how your business works, isn’t it?” the Radio Demon chuckled.

“This ain’t a joke!” His voice raised a little higher than necessary, drawing attention from some of the people around them, and he tried hard to bring himself to care.

“Temper, temper, chéri.” Again, Alastor was laughing at him. Was that the whole reason he’d shown up? For the first time, it occurred to Angel that he couldn’t get a solid read on what the hell this guy wanted. Most demons had their desires written all over them plain as day, since they devoted themselves to pursuing their own interests every chance they got—but Alastor? Either he was really damn good at hiding whatever it was he lusted after, or there genuinely wasn’t anything he wanted that badly. _What the hell am I supposed to do with that?_ “I’ve always heard you were the sort whose feathers are hard to ruffle. Maybe you’ve just never been pushed hard enough.”

“You don’t have a clue what I been through.”

“Oh, you’re absolutely right.” His thumb stroked lightly along the small of Angel’s back, filling the spider’s chest with hot indignation. “But I’m sure I could think up something worse if I really tried.”

“Fuck you,” Angel growled. “I oughta kill you right here and now.”

“By all means, try.” He was really going to encourage Angel to attack him with a smile on his face, while they were all pressed up on each other like this? “It might make this night more interesting, at least. If you’re expecting to succeed, though, I think you’ll be disappointed. Older and stronger Overlords have tried and failed.”

As if he didn’t already know that. It was part of the reason he hadn’t made a move yet. While they went through another change, he caught sight of Stolas out of the corner of his eye, dancing with his wife and watching the two of them curiously. Angel quickly looked away, not willing to answer whatever questions his friend might be forming about this misleading position they were in.

“So what? You just came here to rub it in my face? What the hell did I ever do to you?” he demanded, meeting the Radio Demon’s glowing red eyes again.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding. Whatever I did or didn’t do, it wasn’t at all related to you. Believe me, if I had anything against you, you would know it.”

The spider refrained from pointing out that Alastor actually had an awful lot _against him_ at the moment. A waltz wasn’t the kind of dance that required all this contact, but he had to admit it was an interesting difference from his usual routine with Vox—which brought up another good point. “You’re trying to get to Vox through me, then?”

“Why do you assume there was some grand ulterior motive behind your employee’s unfortunate demise?” Alastor easily sidestepped another couple to pass them up, then gave Angel another spin to bring him into a sort of reversed hold, Alastor standing at his left shoulder and again holding his hands to keep guiding him. There was some fancy French name for the position, but he couldn’t remember it; he and Vox hadn’t practiced this one a lot, which meant it took more of his concentration to keep following Alastor’s lead and not make an idiot of himself by falling out of step. While he was focused on that, the Radio Demon continued to talk. “You know, living in this world with all its make-believe civility has skewed the minds of a lot of Overlords, the way I see it. Why does there have to be a reason? Why do you need to see this as a carefully-planned tactical assault? Why can’t it just be what it is?”

This position they were in brought his mouth closer to Angel’s ear, so he was speaking quieter, and the spider could feel tension building up in his shoulders. What the fuck was the matter with him? He was _not_ about to swoon over this guy’s voice. _Not him. Not now._ “So what is it, then?”

“Pure self-indulgence,” Alastor purred. “Pursuit of pleasure, as you’d expect from a demon. An itch scratched, an appetite satisfied. I would think you of all people would understand that, cher.”

“Quit callin’ me that.”

“But you do know what I mean, don’t you, Angel?” Oh God, that was worse.

“You’re sayin’ my girl had to die so some sicko could get his rocks off, and I’m just s’posed to be okay with it?” Angel asked, trying hard to focus on the conversation so he wouldn’t have to think about all the sensations that came along with this dance.

“Oh, I’m not telling you how to feel about it. All I’m saying is that you should try not to take it personally. Think of it this way…” Alastor paused long enough to bring them back into closed position, then dropped Angel into a low dip with zero warning. The spider let out a squeal, his lower hands wrapping tightly around Alastor’s waist so he wouldn’t fall, but just like the rest of the dance, his partner still felt completely stable. Grinning at the shock on Angel’s face, leaning a little closer than necessary, he went on, “It could’ve been _you_ on that bed.”

For the briefest second, somewhere in between his cocky smile and his deceptively gentle touch, Angel got a glimmer of desire from him—but not enough to read properly. If anything, it sure as hell seemed like he was the one imagining Angel in that bed at the casino, all butchered and bloody.

Thinking about how he’d found Divine earlier that night snapped him out of his stunned embarrassment. He stumbled back out of Alastor’s arms to stand on his own two feet, disgusted with himself for having gotten all starry-eyed over this fucker that murdered one of the girls who trusted him for protection. Luckily, they were at the edge of the floor already, so he was able to stride away without being in anyone’s way. He was positive everyone was staring at him as he left, but he didn’t care; it was way worse to know that Alastor had gotten the best of him for a minute.

When he got back to Vox, he’d already gotten rid of their glasses and was standing by with his arms crossed, obviously irritated with Angel for running off like that with no explanation. “Having fun out there?”

“I was tryin’ to get information,” Angel muttered, refusing to feel bad for leaving. “He’s the one that killed Divine.”

“What?” Vox’s anger was quickly replaced with concern. “Are you sure? Did he say so?”

“He wouldn’t say it outright, but he was actin’ like he knew just what I was talkin’ about. It’s him.” When Angel glanced back out at the dancefloor, Alastor was nowhere to be seen. Part of him wanted to say good riddance, but another part was furious they hadn’t reached any kind of conclusion.

“Angel, if Al’s your target, I really think it’d be best to let this go,” Vox was saying, just like Niss had. “You don’t know him like I do. He’s not like the others here; he won’t think twice about killing you.”

“And you think I’d just make it easy for him, is that right?” Angel snarled.

“I’m saying you wouldn’t have to, luv. He’s not someone to underestimate. You know how many Overlords I’ve seen him cut down? Hellborn and sinners, demons who’ve been around for centuries,” Vox insisted. While he was talking, Angel was scanning the ballroom for a flash of bright red and finally found his target standing perfectly still across the room, near one of the exits. He was looking down at a pocket watch in his hand, then glanced up at Angel and winked again. “If you’re trying to confront him about it, at least let me help you. I’ll talk to him and—”

Alastor made a show of yawning widely, checked his watch again, then turned on his heel to head for the door. “Fuck that!” Angel snapped, rushing after him at a pace just short of running. He caught up in a dimly-lit corridor that led to the back of the studio, while Alastor was striding leisurely toward the door. There were no other guests around. No audience. No hoity-toity Overlords looking down on him. Finally, he could say what was on his mind.

“I hope you’re here to apologize for running out on me like that.” Alastor glanced over his shoulder, casual as could be, like he hadn’t provoked Angel into following him. But his eyes went wide and his smile faltered as the spider marched over and shoved him back against the wall, one arm pressed hard against his throat, two pinning back his shoulders, the last one resting on the wall next to him. It was obvious from the look on his face this was the last thing he’d expected Angel to do, and the spider relished seeing him so disarmed.

“Listen to me, ya sonofabitch,” he growled, glaring down into Alastor’s eyes. “I don’t care who you are or what kinda clout y’think you got. Everybody else here might be scared a’ you, but I ain’t. Talk all the shit you want, keep on pretendin’ ya didn’t do anything wrong—but I swear to God, you come _anywhere_ near my babes again, I’m gonna make you sorry for it. Get your jollies somewhere else, or next time we see each other won’t be nearly this friendly. Capisce?”

Alastor didn’t answer right away, staring unblinking into Angel’s eyes as if he wasn’t sure how to respond to these threats. Just to drive the point home, Angel pressed his arm harder against Alastor’s throat until he could feel the bastard’s breath dragging in and out, leaned in real close, and growled, “I said, do you fuckin’ understand me?”

This time, the Radio Demon’s desire hit Angel all at once, loud and clear, strong enough to speed his heart and quicken his breath. It was something he hadn’t expected, something that made him undeniably uncomfortable…but maybe something he could use.

“I understand,” Alastor ground out. His eyes narrowed, but his toothy smile grew wider still. “I understand perfectly, cher. And thank you for spelling it out for me. I can promise you right now”—he paused to choke in another breath—“I don’t have any interest in getting at your people. But I _will_ be looking forward to seeing you again.”

Realizing that he was still holding Alastor in place, Angel took a single step back, withdrawing his hands so the Radio Demon was free to move. He half-expected Alastor to pounce on him, to retaliate against his threats—but he didn’t. Instead, he inclined his head and, with another stolen glance at Angel’s eyes, continued out the door.

Angel remained where he was for a few seconds, thinking. Alastor’s desire was a very specific one, one Angel hadn’t encountered in all his years as an Overlord. Sure, he’d felt plenty of kinky lust directed at him from various demons, but this one was singular. It was similar to Vox’s in some ways: _you, you, you_. But it was a lot more specific.

 _I want you_ , it said, _the same way I had her._

There was no need to guess who ‘her’ was in this case.

Alastor wanted him dead, wanted to enjoy the act of killing him, and he wanted it bad. What the fuck had his big mouth just gotten him into?


	3. Cat and Mouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) The Twitter poll said you guys wanted to see a boy babe in this chapter, so that's what I gave you.  
> 2) I swear this story is going to be RadioDust, no matter what other impressions this chapter might give. >_>  
> 3) Enjoy! 💖

As Alastor left Vox’s little Overlord soiree, rubbing his throat absently, he was already thinking of the best way to get Angel Dust alone. Not that taunting him in public hadn’t been entertaining, but that last part of their ‘dance’ had pushed him a step further than expected. This evening was only intended to be a passing diversion, and he’d meant it when he said that there was no ulterior motive behind his killing that prostitute at the casino; it was just a manner of satisfying his bloodlust after having fasted for a while. Although she’d served her purpose well, that girl had meant nothing to him. She did put up a surprisingly good fight, but in the end, she screamed just like all the others, begged just like all the others, died just like all the others. Satisfying but predictable.

Her employer, on the other hand! Now _his_ response was a surprise. Of course, he got all puffed up and made threats as Overlords were wont to do. That sort of posturing was expected. The interesting part was that he seemed to genuinely mean what he said. He was actually angry that Alastor had murdered one of his subordinates, and not only because his pride was wounded. Maybe it was the principle of the matter. Regardless, the passion in his voice was real. It was clear that Alastor’s antagonistic flirting during their dance was getting to him in one way or another—but those furious threats he’d made afterward, the physical aspect of the confrontation…yes, ‘surprising’ was the right word. And undeniably intriguing.

Alastor had always known him first and foremost as Vox’s longest-standing obsession and had assumed for that reason that the two of them would never really get along. After all, anyone Vox enjoyed had to be unbearably dull. But it seemed like he might’ve been mistaken in this case; shocking as it was, his rival had actually chosen someone interesting to get attached to. It was a shame they wouldn’t be together for much longer.

— — —

Alastor quickly determined that the best way to get Angel’s attention again was to do exactly what he’d been told not to. That is, approach his ‘babes’ again and wait for Angel to catch wind of it. However, because the employees were of far less interest than their boss, he decided it was best to do so wherever he was most likely to find Angel as well. It might be a safe bet to go back to that casino where he’d had his last eventful evening, as Angel might be expecting him to return to the scene of the crime. But was that too obvious? The last thing he wanted was to give away the fact that he was actively pursuing Angel himself; he much preferred that the spider think _he_ was the one doing the chasing.

What he really needed was to speak with someone who had reason to know where Angel would be and when. Vox was probably the most reliable source, but he was out of the question for obvious reasons. Did Angel have some sort of assistant or secretary, maybe? Even if so, they weren’t likely to share anything with Alastor. So he would have to go for a less direct source.

A week or so after Vox’s party, Alastor headed just out of Pentagram City to one of a handful of Overlords’ mansions that existed outside town. This one stood to the east of the city and had all the hallmarks of traditional Gothic architecture (unlike most of the slapdash, unregulated construction in Hell). The wrought-iron gate surrounding the property featured a not-so-subtle snake motif, offering a hint as to who owned the place. The whole thing was very ostentatious, very _elegant_ , much like the woman who lived there, but in Alastor’s personal opinion, it was a bit excessive.

Completely ignoring the various security and servants stationed around the building, he stepped into the shadows and let them carry him discreetly inside, all the way to a pair of tall double doors on the mansion’s second floor. He’d been here a time or two before and knew this room was where he would most likely find whom he was looking for. He rapped his knuckles sharply against the dark wood, and a voice from the other side promptly called, “Come in, dear.”

 _Ah._ So she’d been expecting him? That took a bit of the fun out of this. Sure enough, as he stepped inside the office, which was every bit as darkly ornate as the rest of the house, Venture was seated at her claw-foot desk across the room, hands steepled in front of her, and didn’t look even slightly surprised by his presence. “Nice to see you, my friend,” he said nevertheless, strolling casually closer, the tap of his footsteps muffled by a plush rug.

“Likewise,” she answered with a smile, unblinking yellow eyes fixed firmly on his. “I almost doubted my sentries when I heard you were here; you typically like to make more of an entrance.”

“Yes, but I could do without all the ceremony it takes just to have a quick chat with you.”

“Well, I prefer you sneaking in to having you obliterate my staff for getting in your way,” his friend chuckled. She gestured for him to take a seat, despite both of them knowing he wouldn’t.

“I didn’t see you at Vox’s little do last week. Did you not go? I would’ve thought it would be right up your alley,” he said as he wandered around the room and observed all her fancy décor.

“Please. You know I can’t stand that obnoxious boor any more than you can.” Her smile having disappeared, Venture gestured offhandedly as she went on, “Besides, the entire affair is gauche. I enjoy grandstanding as much as the next Overlord, but I prefer to do it on my own terms. In fact, I’m surprised to hear that _you_ went. What prompted that?”

“I heard someone there was looking for me, so I decided to make it easy for him. On that note!” He turned sharply on his heel to face his friend and asked, “Am I right to assume you sometimes work with Angel Dust?”

“Of course. We’ve made each other quite a lot of money over the years. He’s much more clever than most give him credit for. Surprising ethics as well, given his line of work. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t suppose you’d happen to know where I could find him this evening?”

Venture’s eyes narrowed, and she insisted, “Why?”

“We were talking at the party and never finished our conversation,” Alastor lied easily. “I’d like to try again somewhere there are fewer distractions. It’s innocent as can be.”

“Knowing what I do about him and about you, I find that difficult to believe.”

“So suspicious!” he laughed. “But there’s nothing sinister about it, I promise you.” He raised one hand and used the other to cross his heart, his staff hovering in midair beside him. “Just a friendly chat.” _And if one of us ends up maimed, so be it._

“I doubt that,” his friend answered flatly, “but you’re both adults; I suppose it’s not my place to make sure you behave. Luckily for you, he and I recently went in on another endeavor together, so yes, I do know where he’ll be tonight. The question is what the information is worth to you.”

Of course, he’d expected this. “Not too much; I could just as easily search him out myself, I’m sure.”

“Not quite as easily,” Venture argued with a pleasant smile. “If that were the case, you wouldn’t have come to me in the first place, dear. Now, give me your assurance you won’t cause any harm to the establishment I send you to or the employees therein, and I’ll gladly tell you where to look for him.”

“That’s all you want?”

“It is. I’d prefer that you don’t do any damage to his person either, but I’m sure he can see to that himself. Do I have your word?”

“Assuming Angel Dust is there tonight, yes.”

“Good.” Opening one of her desk’s drawers, she retrieved pen and paper to jot down an address. “He opened a new club at the beginning of the month, and he’s been keeping an especially close eye on it. Quite a high-class outfit, exclusive clientele and performers.”

“Exclusive performers?” Alastor repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Meaning they’re somehow different from all the other prostitutes he employs?”

“First, ‘prostitute’ is a generalization that doesn’t apply to all his employees. Second, yes, they are. You’ll see what I mean when you get there,” she assured him, handing over the note she’d scrawled in her elaborate cursive. “And I do hope you aren’t going there to pick a fight. You might find Angel more dangerous than you expect.”

_Oh, I certainly hope so._

— — —

When Alastor arrived at the address Venture had given him, he found a surprisingly understated building with tall windows on either side of the entrance obscured by pink velvet curtains. Above the door was a neon sign that simply read _Seventh_ , a similar shade of pink glowing against the walls’ dark paint job. Unlike most clubs he’d come across, there was no line outside, and there were no bouncers to speak of either—but he didn’t think for a moment that security was actually as lax as it seemed; they must have some other method of regulating who came or went. That could make his getting inside a little more complicated. Maybe it would be smarter to avoid being seen trying to enter and instead sneak in through the back. It was likely Angel didn’t want to see him, after all, so he probably would’ve told ‘his people’ not to let Alastor anywhere near any of his businesses.

Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Maybe he sort of liked the idea of showing up, being told he wasn’t welcome, then letting himself in nevertheless. And he could do so without causing any damage, he was sure, so there was no danger of going back on his word to Venn. To his surprise, however, when he tried the door, it swung open easily and allowed him through without any fuss. All that scheming and speculation for nothing… Hadn’t Venture said this place was exclusive? Something had to be wrong. Still, it brought him a step closer to his target, so he couldn’t complain.

He passed through a deserted antechamber and another velvet curtain into a high-ceilinged room with two visible levels and a generous handful of demons lounging about on either one. Alastor let out a low whistle as he looked the place over. It didn’t look like any strip club he could’ve imagined, brightly lit with sconces and chandeliers, filled with rich furnishings and richer patrons. There was a bar on the left wall and another on the right, a spiral staircase at the back of the room leading up to the mezzanine, and a collection of couches and armchairs scattered throughout the room. _High-class, indeed!_

And the demons that populated the room were clearly of a different caliber than the typical rank and file that filled the streets. They were all dressed to the nines; even the scantily-clad creatures—presumably the ‘performers’—artfully arranged on divans and chaises and even cushioned pedestals wore layers of fine georgette and silk. Yes, he had to admit, it was an aesthetically-pleasing atmosphere, but that didn’t change what it was: a den of iniquity, a glorified whorehouse. Again, all these delusions of grandeur, all this playacting at sophistication. Why couldn’t demons simply admit to themselves what they were? Alastor himself had always known and never bothered trying to convince himself otherwise.

Trying to look as if he belonged there and wasn’t silently passing judgment on the hypocritical clientele, he wandered slowly away from the entrance and to an empty chair some distance from the rest of the room’s occupants. If anyone there had a problem with his presence, they didn’t say so. No sooner had he sat down than one of the workers approached him, a young man with a slim figure formed of pure stygian blackness. A haze of white hair framed his face, a pair of golden eyes his only discernible feature.

“Good evening, sir.” Since he had no visible mouth, it wasn’t clear where his pleasant tenor came from; it seemed to simply pervade the air around him. There was a certain otherworldly quality about it, a multiplicity, as if more than one person were speaking at once. As he seated himself on the tufted ottoman in front of Alastor’s chair, he offered a flute of sparkling pink wine (using a pitch black tentacle that came from somewhere behind his back, rather than his hands). “Pardon my intrusion, but I couldn’t help noticing your hands are empty. When there are so many interesting things here you might fill them with, that seems like a shame.”

“Thank you for your concern,” Alastor answered, accepting the glass and looking over the performer in front of him with unveiled curiosity. _Well, aren’t you an exotic thing?_ Even if Angel wasn’t there himself, maybe Alastor could be satisfied with deciphering how to kill this unusual creature. “What’s your name, cher?”

“Arden,” the boy purred, posing on the ottoman and running one white-gloved hand slowly up his inky thigh. He wore tall boots and small shorts, all white with gold accents, which left the majority of his legs exposed. “And yours?”

“Alastor.”

“Then it’s my pleasure to meet you, Alastor. I’ll assume this is your first time visiting us?”

“How could you tell?”

“The general lack of purpose in your movement,” Arden said matter-of-factly. “Most of our return patrons come back because they’ve found something or someone that interests them, but you seem to just be browsing. Besides, I’ve been here every night since our opening, and I think I would have remembered you. You’re quite a striking figure, you know.”

“I could say the same of you, beau sombre,” Alastor countered, taking the smallest sip of his wine and finding it surprisingly dry. “So how is it you have no one else to occupy your attention at the moment?”

Despite having few facial features to work with, the boy still managed a surprisingly expressive pout. “Why? Do you not want my company? I’ll leave you be if you prefer.”

“Now, now, I didn’t say that.” If he couldn’t have the target he’d come for, he certainly didn’t want to lose this unexpectedly interesting second choice. The question was how he should determine whether Angel was there or not. “If you’re willing, I would love to hear exactly how things are done here.”

Arden tilted his head to one side. “I’m surprised you’re here without knowing already. Whoever invited you should have explained.”

Aha, so when Venture had said ‘exclusive,’ she’d meant ‘invitation only.’ But that didn’t explain how Alastor had gotten in so easily. “Unfortunately, she didn’t. Intentionally, I think; she knows this sort of thing isn’t exactly my forte and probably wanted to see me embarrass myself.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want that.” The laugh Arden let out was both a playful giggle and a condescending snicker. “Never fear, I’ll happily share what I know.”

It turned out Alastor had arrived a bit early, as none of the _entertainment_ had begun yet. Arden explained that this part of the evening was intended for guests to make themselves comfortable and choose which performer(s) they wanted to patronize. Then over the course of the night, there would be individual shows in private rooms off the main lounge area, each of which cost a small cover fee to attend. Between the bar, these shows, and the performers’ tips, it seemed there was quite a lot of money to be made—and spent—in a place like this. _No wonder Angel does so well for himself._

“And at the end of the night,” Arden went on as Alastor was finishing his glass of wine, “those of us who’ve found interesting company might make arrangements to spend more time with our chosen patrons.” So they were prostitutes after all. Interesting that they were allowed to choose for themselves who they slept with, though. Lowering his voice a bit, the void demon continued, “I suggest not bringing that up without being asked, however; some of us are a bit sensitive on the subject and prefer to treat it as delicately as possible.” He rolled his eyes, and Alastor couldn’t help smiling.

“I’ll assume you don’t agree?”

“Well, it’s their prerogative to conduct themselves the way they want,” Arden said with an airy wave of his hand, “but no, personally, I don’t. I know my own intentions, and I like to think I can read my patrons’ as well.”

“Hmm, you might be surprised,” Alastor cautioned.

“All the better, then.” Well, if he was so eager for an adventure, maybe he deserved Alastor’s attention after all.

“I’m sure this is an odd question, but during those shows you mentioned…I don’t suppose Angel Dust performs in any himself?”

“Angel?” The boy’s gold-colored eyes blinked a bit wider. “No, he hasn’t worked at this level of the business for years. Why do you ask? I wouldn’t have guessed you were an Anthony fan.”

“Anthony?” Alastor repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“So you _aren’t_ a fan of his. It’s the name he went by before he became an Overlord, back when you could still find him performing in places like this. But that was decades ago; he has more important things to spend his time on these days.”

 _Like attending parties with his beau, for example?_ “I see. I was told he would be here tonight, so I wondered what role he played in operations.”

“An important one, I can assure you of that. None of us would be here without him. I certainly wouldn’t.” Arden became distant for a moment, combing his fingers through his hair, inexplicably alluring even in his melancholy. But quickly enough, he moved past whatever had upset him and replaced his playful pout. “But is he the one you were hoping to spend the night with, sir? You’ll make me jealous with all this talk of another man.”

“Are you that set on keeping me to yourself already?” Alastor teased, leaning a bit closer to play up the flirtation.

“Well, the way you’ve been watching me, I’ll admit you’ve gotten my hopes up a bit.” It wasn’t the first time his ever-present bloodlust had been mistaken for lust of a different sort. Poor Divine had made the same misjudgment.

“Then I’m sure you’ll strive to impress me with your performance later.”

“Is that a challenge? Yes, I think you’ll find it ‘impressive’ in every sense of the word.”

“I look forward to it, then. In the meantime, would you like to show me around?” Getting to his feet, he offered Arden his arm. “I like the idea of demonstrating that your attention is mine for the night.”

“Keep talking that way and I’ll give you more than just my attention,” the boy cooed.

Of course, the tour was just a marginally subtle means for Alastor to scan the entirety of the establishment in the hopes of coming across Angel somewhere (and with one of his precious babes in tow!), but unfortunately, it seemed that Venture’s information was wrong. Either Angel wasn’t there or he was hidden in some back area Alastor couldn’t reach. Frustrating. Still, if that was the case, it meant his promise not to harm anyone no longer stood, so he was free to take out his irritation on the tragically-agreeable Arden. And once Angel discovered that another of his employees had been killed, he would be forced to take Alastor more seriously. It was a win-win, really.

So the Radio Demon resigned to settle for his second choice and focused all his attention on making sure Arden was thoroughly smitten with him by the end of the night, playing every last charming card he had up his sleeve to be sure he got what he wanted. The boy was right about one thing: his performance was certainly interesting. Around 11 o’clock, he led Alastor upstairs and into a darkened room with a circular stage in its center. After leading him straight to the front row, Arden pushed him down into one of several armchairs surrounding the stage a bit harder than necessary, prompting a warning growl in return.

“You said you wanted to be impressed,” he pointed out, easily vaulting up onto the stage while the room filled with his various other admirers. “Try not to blink; I wouldn’t want you to miss anything.”

It was sound advice. Once the audience was seated, some dark and sultry tune started to play, forcing Alastor to wonder whether there was a speaker system of some sort or if, like his voice, Arden simply generated the sound from nowhere. A spotlight shone straight down onto the stage, accentuating the lightless quality of his skin by illuminating the space around him. He took his time about undressing, tugging his gloves off finger by finger, stepping delicately out of his boots, then shrugging off his gleaming gold jacket. His body moved in ways no typical, fully corporeal creature could have, all at once sharp and smooth and fluid and dynamic. Fascinating.

Alastor found himself watching more closely than intended, leaning forward in his seat, trying to figure out exactly what laws of physics the boy was subject to. Even gravity didn’t seem to affect him wholly, as if he could doff it just like he had the rest of his ensemble. This would make him a challenge to restrain, certainly, and so would those ever-shifting tentacles—but when had Alastor ever shied from a challenge before?

After the dance (if it could be called that), after he’d wandered about the room to collect tips from the audience, Alastor hung back a bit until the rest of the demons had left. Before Arden had time to finish dressing himself again, Alastor caught him against the wall, pinning his wrists back partially just to test how securely he could hold them.

“All right,” he conceded, “I’m impressed. Now tell me how I can get you all to myself, mon cher captivant.”

“Oh, I would like that,” the boy sighed dreamily, his eyes lingering on Alastor’s lips. Did he even have a mouth to kiss? Not that Alastor planned for the night to go in that direction, but he still wondered. “I have another show to put on in an hour. Then I’ll be all yours.”

“You absolutely will,” the Radio Demon answered with a grin, wetting his lips, wondering what it might be like to try to eat such a curious creature. He was getting the feeling the killing itself would have to be done as quickly and efficiently as possible, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t spend some time indulging his curiosity afterward.

After the second dance, Arden was the one to stop him from leaving the room, and he handed over a brass key, the old-fashioned kind rather than the electronic sort most businesses in Hell used. “Show this to one of the bartenders and they’ll take you downstairs. Wait for me in room twenty, and I’ll…meet you soon.”

“Don’t take too long.” He caught the boy’s hand to kiss his knuckles, then followed his instructions to the room where they’d be sharing their night together. The bartender he showed his key to did give him a sort of strange look but didn’t say anything, instead showing him through a doorway hidden behind the bar, which opened onto a staircase that led down to a sort of basement level. This hallway looked oddly like any other hotel corridor, with ten doors on either side. Room 20 was at the very end of the hall, and when he stepped inside, he found it much more lavish than that room at the Ragni casino, a match for the posh upstairs area. Everything was furnished in shades of pink and silver, silk and velvet, mahogany and black enamel. It certainly _looked_ new.

He spent some time determining the best ways to use this setting to his advantage, planning exactly what he would do with Arden’s body, wondering how long he could spend toying with him before the boy realized his true intentions…and then some more time simply waiting. How long had it been? Twenty minutes? Half an hour? Arden had seemed so eager to be alone with him, so what was keeping him?

Alastor was just starting to get irritated with the wait when there was finally a knock at the door. He got up from his seat on the bed to answer it, fully prepared to scold Arden for being away so long—but when he opened the door, he found himself staring at the fluffy chest of a very different dark-skinned beauty. “Angel! What a pleasant surprise.”

“Arden had to cut out,” the spider said with a half-shrug. He was dressed very differently from the last time they’d seen each other, in a pale pink miniskirt and cowl-neck blouse that showcased his curves nicely. “Hope ya don’t mind me subbin’ in.”

“Wait, you’re…taking his place?”

“You got a problem with that?”

“Not at all.” Well, he wasn’t sure. This was hardly where he’d expected the night to go, and it wasn’t exactly the position he’d hoped to find himself in when he’d imagined going after Angel…but if they were getting another chance to talk, he couldn’t complain. All thoughts of that other boy—what’s-his-name—had fled his mind as he stepped back and gestured for Angel to join him in the room. “No, very much the opposite.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And on the off chance any of you are interested in seeing/knowing more about Arden, [you can find him here](https://twitter.com/Syntaxeme/status/1315049290331353090?s=20). I'll be honest; I wound up liking him way more than I intended to, so you'll probably be seeing more of him in my future works~   
> OH, it's just occurred to me that some of you may not already know Venture, [so here she is too](https://twitter.com/Syntaxeme/status/1305302272830836736?s=20). 😅


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